


Don't Stay Away too Long

by FloofyFlower



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloofyFlower/pseuds/FloofyFlower
Summary: It's been four months since their date at The Ritz, and Crowley has failed to contact Aziraphale since. So, a worried angel does what any worried angel would do--he seeks the demon out at his home.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	Don't Stay Away too Long

He had only ever been to Crowley’s residence a few times before. It wasn’t that he hated the place, mind you, it was simply that it reminded him of Heaven a bit. Crowley enjoyed the bare minimum when it came to home furnishings, and it gave Aziraphale a strange twinge of loneliness to be in such open space. But, it was a part of Crowley’s life, wasn’t it? And so, well. . .He didn’t _hate_ it.  
“S’place, Earth, is crowded enough as it is. And Hell even more so, barely any stretching room,” Crowley had once said when Aziraphale had asked him about his minimalist setup over a late dinner back in 1961, “I like to be able to breathe where I dwell, Angel.”  
Now, on this misting morning, Aziraphale finds himself on Crowley’s street. It’s been nearly four months since their body swap escapade, and the demon has not contacted Aziraphale since their date at The Ritz. Of course he tried to call Crowley several times but to no avail. And so, the only other option was to pop in and see what was keeping the fiend at bay. Doing his very best not to worry about Hell having figured out their trick and therefore whisked Crowley away and snuffed out his existence, the angel mounts the steps and knocks on the door with a cheery quick _tap tap tap_! He would have felt it, wouldn’t he? If Crowley had been ended? Some part of him would have felt something disappear from himself, surely.  
Aziraphale rocks on his heels, his arms clasped behind his back as nonchalantly as possible. He waits, and he waits. And the mist turns to a steady rain.  
“Oh, Crowley, really,” Aziraphale huffs, looking up at the windows to see if he can catch a glimpse of movement. He knocks again, this time with urgency. “This coat does not repel water well.” Without wasting another moment, he lets himself in.  
If it had been anyone else or any _thing_ else, the door would not have opened. If there had been any forced entry, the intruder—if human—would have found themselves suddenly and miraculously back out on the street with a massive headache and limbs that temporarily didn’t work. If the intruder had been otherworldly, they would have found themselves discorporated and back in their respectful dominion as a wisp.  
However, this is Aziraphale. And as far as Crowley’s concerned whatever is his own is also his Angel’s.  
With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale is dry once more.  
“Crowley?” The angel calls out, trying his best not to sound alarmed or urgent and failing rather miserably. “It’s me, just popping in to see how you're getting on.” At the silence, he calls out a little louder and a tad shakier, “Hello?”  
Aziraphale tentatively makes his way further into the home, peeking into the office space where Crowley’s desk and ornate chair reside.  
“Really, My Dear, I do not understand why you need such a tacky place to sit,” the angel had mused when Crowley brought him over to see his new piece of furniture. It had been in 1984, and Crowley sported a rather unique hairstyle. Not that it looked bad, Crowley could pull off any style and do it well. “It doesn’t seem very comfortable, does it?”  
“If you’re going to sit, do it in style, s’what I say,” Crowley retorted, and then turned his serpentish grin on Aziraphale. “Do have a sit, maybe it’ll change your mind? I find it rather agreeable.”  
“Ah, very kind of you, truly, but perhaps another time. I have been sitting quite enough today at the bookshop, thank you,” the angel could feel his cheeks warming at the sight of that grin, and he did not want to give the demon any satisfaction. It was a game he rather liked playing, though he would never admit it and he didn’t have to. Crowley was and always has been very intuitive.  
Now, his heart drops slightly at the sight of the empty chair. He steps into the room and looks in on the plants. But, since he does not hear any shouting and the plants are still and content, he knows Crowley is not in here either.  
“Good afternoon, you all are looking quite lovely,” Aziraphale greets the miraculous plants and then visits each one, taking the proper time to admire their beauty. “Oh, dear,” he mutters, gingerly cupping a leaf on one of the newer plants. There’s a spot and though it’s faint, it’s visible. Crowley would notice it the first second he steps into the room. Passing his other hand over the spot, Aziraphale miracles it away. The plant seems to stiffen in confidence, as if it were puffing out its chest. “It’ll be our little secret,” he whispers with a smile.  
Remembering what he came here for, he sets out again down the hall and tries not to wring his hands in growing worry. When he comes to the bedroom door, he hesitates. Everyone is entitled to their privacy, and nothing is more private and personal than a bedroom—especially when the door is closed.  
 _Well, he should have thought about that before he disappeared on me_ , Aziraphale thinks indignantly, juts his chin out, and opens the door.  
“Oh,” Aziraphale mouths to himself, staying in the doorway as he catches his breath.  
The room, of course, is barren of any unneeded furnishings. Meaning, there’s a king-sized bed and a nightstand beside it and nothing more. Except on top of the bed, lying on his back above the black covers, is Crowley. He’s in a soft black long-sleeved shirt and black flannel bottoms, and his red hair is ruffed out a bit from lack of attention. But, his face is relaxed and nearly peaceful—nearly.  
He is deeply asleep.  
Aziraphale lightly places a hand to his own heart and doesn’t in the slightest try to keep the smile from his face. Silently, he glides to the foot of the bed and gazes upon the sleeping form. “Oh, My Dear. . .” With a wave of his hand, the blankets drape themselves over Crowley who doesn’t stir.  
The angel walks to the side of the bed and leans across to place a soft kiss to Crowley’s forehead and then lightly smooths out the slight crinkle of the demon’s brow with his thumb. There’s no way he can see what dreams Crowley is having, but he sends lovely ones his way just in case.  
Of course sleep is something Crowley cherishes, and after what they had endured it only makes sense that he would need a reboot. There is no telling when he will wake up, and Aziraphale can’t help but feel a bit crestfallen at this thought. But it's only a fleeting feeling, and he is soon smiling ever so lovingly down at the sleeping demon once again.  
“Now, you sleep for as long as you need, but don’t stay away for too long and do come back to me soon,” Aziraphale whispers, stealing another moment to gaze down at the slow rise and fall of Crowley’s chest and slightly parted lips.  
He goes out much quieter than he came in, and on the nightstand there magically appears a steaming cup of tea that will hold its heat until Crowley wakes up and drinks it.


End file.
